June 17
It’s raining. We planned to do a boat tour of 1000 Islands – recommended by everyone we talk to – but in this weather, all we’ll see is raindrops shrouding the distant islands. So we take a drive to Alexandria Bay, which we’ve also been advised is well worth seeing. Turns out it’s a typical tourist village on the water. . . .little shops, little restaurants, lots of sloganized T-shirts. Substitute “Alexandria Bay” or “1000 Islands” for Cape Cod, Bourbon Street, Key West or any other standard tourist town and you’ve got a T-shirt shop.
After driving around Alex Bay, we continue our drive north on the St. Lawrence Seaway Trail, following the shoreline of Lake Ontario much of the way. The scenery is green and pretty, but we’ve seen so much pretty scenery in the past 6 months the bar is high, and this scenic byway ranks average on the Scene-ometer. We keep driving, hoping the rain will stop, the clouds will part and the sun will shine on this sodden land – but no miracles today. The rain is persistent and the clouds are angry grey and dense. We turn around and come back to Alexandria Bay to walk around, umbrellas overhead. There’s a farmer’s market downtown, 5 or 6 determined vendors awaiting the weather miracle we’ve given up on.
One of the vendors is Runaway Bride Farm, selling produce, free-range eggs and cheese curds. The Runaway Bride (she tells me she was one once; I don’t pursue her story) has no eggs- raccoons got into her henhouse, she tells me, and killed 40 of her hens. “I didn’t know raccoons ate chickens!” I admit. They don’t she says; they kill for fun. In addition to wiping out half her stock, they crushed the eggs, and the remaining hens have been too traumatized the past 3 days to lay any eggs. But she does have early June peas – similar to snow peas, they don’t need to be shelled; they can be eaten pod and all. And she has garlic tips – the green shoots of the garlic bud, cut off to make the buds grow bigger, they can be sliced and eaten raw in salads or cooked like scallions. They have a mild garlic scent and taste. I buy a bag of early peas, plus garlic tips and fresh green onions.
One of the best things about our travels is the opportunity to discover and experiment with local foods, especially when we find them fresh direct from the grower. We’ve learned about, and enjoyed, an abundance of foods we didn’t know existed . . . fiddlehead ferns in Maine, available only for a few weeks in they spring, they are sautéed or steamed and taste similar to asparagus; beignets (of course!) in New Orleans, puffy dough hot from the deep fryer and thick with powdered sugar; garlic tips (we had them in our salad for dinner tonight); Whoopie Pies – huge chocolate cookies with a type of butter cream frosting, this is definitely an acquired taste (and not one I will ever acquire); real Philly cheese steak sandwiches in Pennsylvania; lobster rolls – lobster chunks mixed with mayo and served on a toasted hot dog roll; good Texas or southern barbeque (with the sauce served on the side, not atop the meat) . . . . I could go on, but I’m getting hungry!
June 19
We spend Father’s Day in McVeytown, PA, a small town near Huntingdon, where Steve’s Aunt Minna lives. We spent Saturday night at an RV park in Montoursville, a place off the highway – way off! because it was the only one we could find. We had planned just to park at the WalMart in Williamsport, since it’s too far to drive to McVeytown in one day and we just needed a place to “park the bus” for the night. But finding the WalMart was not easy; we drove around and around looking for it (we probably could have driven to McVeytown in the time we spent driving around). When we got to the Walmart, we decided the parking lot was not big enough for us to park in – thus the long drive to Montoursville
So here we are in the valley of south central Pennsylvania, surrounded by softly undulating nubbily green mountains, and not much else. Huntingdon is a tiny town with a couple of diners, a couple of grocery stores – it’s not even big enough to rate a WalMart. We spend the afternoon visiting with Steve’s aunt, then meet her and her son-in-law, Bill, the next day for lunch on our way out of town. We’re going to the Pittsburgh area – Steve’s flying out of Pittsburgh to Philly to visit his mother on Tuesday, returning Wednesday afternoon.
We leave Huntingdon about 2 p.m., and telephone an RV park that’s close to the airport (30 minutes away) to find out if they have space; we get a voice mail and leave a message. We’re not anticipating any problems – the parks we’ve stayed at to date have had plenty of sites available.
But, we discover, summer vacation season is definitely here. When we’re just a few miles away from the park, we get a return phone call – they’re fully booked! Uh-oh. I start making calls – but it’s 6 p.m., and most RV parks quit answering their phone at 4:30 or 5 p.m. (What’s up with that? How hard can it be to transfer their calls to a cell phone or home phone, or leave a message saying, “We have space available, come on in,” or “Sorry, we’re booked.” Customer service hasn’t been discovered yet in these places, apparently.
We call 4 or 5 different places, leaving messages along the way, and finally find a KOA 40 miles from Pittsburgh Airport with space. It’s almost 8 p.m. when we pull in (thank heaven for daylight savings; there’s still plenty of daylight left, so hooking up is not problem), and when I come out of the office after registering, I see a line of RVs and trailers behind ours, all waiting to check in. Guess we’re not the only ones having trouble finding a place to call home tonight.
June 20
The last few days have been tiring and frustrating. Steve and I are talking about – and looking forward to – going home to Washington. We expect to get home by mid-August. We’re ready for a home without wheels, jobs, commitments. Driving around with our 38’ rig and tow vehicle looking for an RV park is exhausting. And when we calculated our budget before we started this trip, we didn’t think about toll roads, which in the East are common – and costly. We usually prefer to take back roads and scenic byways, but sometimes the turnpikes are unavoidable. Since they charge per axle, we’ve paid tolls as high as $30 in some places. Since we’re on a budget (we are, after all, unemployed! And we don’t want to spent all of our retirement income – we haven’t retired yet!) we try to economize when possible, by staying at Passport America parks – as members of PA, we get a 50% discount at these parks. The downside is they’re often in off-the-beaten track locations. – which means a long drive in the Jeep to get to area attractions, national parks, etc. But on the whole, the savings are worth it, and some of the nicest parks have been Passport. And getting to these places often means driving through small towns, which always seem to have a Main Street lined with stately oak, maple or sycamore trees, and wood frame, brick or stone homes alternating with the vet’s office, a Cut ‘n Curl beauty salon, and an automobile repair shop. The sweet nostalgia of these towns brings hope to the heart; at the same time, I see the deterioration and fatigue in the buildings. . . .
It’s raining. We planned to do a boat tour of 1000 Islands – recommended by everyone we talk to – but in this weather, all we’ll see is raindrops shrouding the distant islands. So we take a drive to Alexandria Bay, which we’ve also been advised is well worth seeing. Turns out it’s a typical tourist village on the water. . . .little shops, little restaurants, lots of sloganized T-shirts. Substitute “Alexandria Bay” or “1000 Islands” for Cape Cod, Bourbon Street, Key West or any other standard tourist town and you’ve got a T-shirt shop.
After driving around Alex Bay, we continue our drive north on the St. Lawrence Seaway Trail, following the shoreline of Lake Ontario much of the way. The scenery is green and pretty, but we’ve seen so much pretty scenery in the past 6 months the bar is high, and this scenic byway ranks average on the Scene-ometer. We keep driving, hoping the rain will stop, the clouds will part and the sun will shine on this sodden land – but no miracles today. The rain is persistent and the clouds are angry grey and dense. We turn around and come back to Alexandria Bay to walk around, umbrellas overhead. There’s a farmer’s market downtown, 5 or 6 determined vendors awaiting the weather miracle we’ve given up on.
One of the vendors is Runaway Bride Farm, selling produce, free-range eggs and cheese curds. The Runaway Bride (she tells me she was one once; I don’t pursue her story) has no eggs- raccoons got into her henhouse, she tells me, and killed 40 of her hens. “I didn’t know raccoons ate chickens!” I admit. They don’t she says; they kill for fun. In addition to wiping out half her stock, they crushed the eggs, and the remaining hens have been too traumatized the past 3 days to lay any eggs. But she does have early June peas – similar to snow peas, they don’t need to be shelled; they can be eaten pod and all. And she has garlic tips – the green shoots of the garlic bud, cut off to make the buds grow bigger, they can be sliced and eaten raw in salads or cooked like scallions. They have a mild garlic scent and taste. I buy a bag of early peas, plus garlic tips and fresh green onions.
One of the best things about our travels is the opportunity to discover and experiment with local foods, especially when we find them fresh direct from the grower. We’ve learned about, and enjoyed, an abundance of foods we didn’t know existed . . . fiddlehead ferns in Maine, available only for a few weeks in they spring, they are sautéed or steamed and taste similar to asparagus; beignets (of course!) in New Orleans, puffy dough hot from the deep fryer and thick with powdered sugar; garlic tips (we had them in our salad for dinner tonight); Whoopie Pies – huge chocolate cookies with a type of butter cream frosting, this is definitely an acquired taste (and not one I will ever acquire); real Philly cheese steak sandwiches in Pennsylvania; lobster rolls – lobster chunks mixed with mayo and served on a toasted hot dog roll; good Texas or southern barbeque (with the sauce served on the side, not atop the meat) . . . . I could go on, but I’m getting hungry!
June 19
We spend Father’s Day in McVeytown, PA, a small town near Huntingdon, where Steve’s Aunt Minna lives. We spent Saturday night at an RV park in Montoursville, a place off the highway – way off! because it was the only one we could find. We had planned just to park at the WalMart in Williamsport, since it’s too far to drive to McVeytown in one day and we just needed a place to “park the bus” for the night. But finding the WalMart was not easy; we drove around and around looking for it (we probably could have driven to McVeytown in the time we spent driving around). When we got to the Walmart, we decided the parking lot was not big enough for us to park in – thus the long drive to Montoursville
So here we are in the valley of south central Pennsylvania, surrounded by softly undulating nubbily green mountains, and not much else. Huntingdon is a tiny town with a couple of diners, a couple of grocery stores – it’s not even big enough to rate a WalMart. We spend the afternoon visiting with Steve’s aunt, then meet her and her son-in-law, Bill, the next day for lunch on our way out of town. We’re going to the Pittsburgh area – Steve’s flying out of Pittsburgh to Philly to visit his mother on Tuesday, returning Wednesday afternoon.
We leave Huntingdon about 2 p.m., and telephone an RV park that’s close to the airport (30 minutes away) to find out if they have space; we get a voice mail and leave a message. We’re not anticipating any problems – the parks we’ve stayed at to date have had plenty of sites available.
But, we discover, summer vacation season is definitely here. When we’re just a few miles away from the park, we get a return phone call – they’re fully booked! Uh-oh. I start making calls – but it’s 6 p.m., and most RV parks quit answering their phone at 4:30 or 5 p.m. (What’s up with that? How hard can it be to transfer their calls to a cell phone or home phone, or leave a message saying, “We have space available, come on in,” or “Sorry, we’re booked.” Customer service hasn’t been discovered yet in these places, apparently.
We call 4 or 5 different places, leaving messages along the way, and finally find a KOA 40 miles from Pittsburgh Airport with space. It’s almost 8 p.m. when we pull in (thank heaven for daylight savings; there’s still plenty of daylight left, so hooking up is not problem), and when I come out of the office after registering, I see a line of RVs and trailers behind ours, all waiting to check in. Guess we’re not the only ones having trouble finding a place to call home tonight.
June 20
The last few days have been tiring and frustrating. Steve and I are talking about – and looking forward to – going home to Washington. We expect to get home by mid-August. We’re ready for a home without wheels, jobs, commitments. Driving around with our 38’ rig and tow vehicle looking for an RV park is exhausting. And when we calculated our budget before we started this trip, we didn’t think about toll roads, which in the East are common – and costly. We usually prefer to take back roads and scenic byways, but sometimes the turnpikes are unavoidable. Since they charge per axle, we’ve paid tolls as high as $30 in some places. Since we’re on a budget (we are, after all, unemployed! And we don’t want to spent all of our retirement income – we haven’t retired yet!) we try to economize when possible, by staying at Passport America parks – as members of PA, we get a 50% discount at these parks. The downside is they’re often in off-the-beaten track locations. – which means a long drive in the Jeep to get to area attractions, national parks, etc. But on the whole, the savings are worth it, and some of the nicest parks have been Passport. And getting to these places often means driving through small towns, which always seem to have a Main Street lined with stately oak, maple or sycamore trees, and wood frame, brick or stone homes alternating with the vet’s office, a Cut ‘n Curl beauty salon, and an automobile repair shop. The sweet nostalgia of these towns brings hope to the heart; at the same time, I see the deterioration and fatigue in the buildings. . . .
posted by Anne-Marie | 9:48 AM
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